In the Heart of the Country of Closed Palms

She decides to turn left.
The oncoming car never slows
It's that close.
What are we,  I wonder,
Guided by voices, wires,
Devices, maybe cunning,
Here in the age of forgiving/unforgiving?

They say a door of a Saturn is forgiving
While glass protects a Toltec bowl
From itself.

Buildings fall, statements flutter
And still
We are like two people riding
The back of an ass.
One of us has got to go.
Even as the spikey branches fall,
And people wave in recognition.
Even as we wave back,
One of us must go.

But it's not very far now
Why not pass the time
In idle conversation
Your head resting
Against my back,
Your heart beating
Behind mine.